


Thoughts of a Dying Atheist

by crazylittleelf



Series: Absolution [4]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia isn't sure who she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts of a Dying Atheist

_and i know you're in this room  
i'm sure i heard you sigh  
floating in between  
where our worlds collide  
scares the hell out of me  
and the end is all I can see_

  
This is her home.

This is supposed to be her home.

She moved into the apartment three years ago, when she was driving across town every evening to visit Frank no matter how late it was, and more of her things were at his place than hers. She immediately broke the conditions of his lease by painting the kitchen a bright turquoise that reminds her of the ocean. She remembers his dubious face at the color, promising that she'd paint it back to a boring neutral if he hated it. She remembers him showing her exactly how appreciative he was right there on the countertop.

Briefly, none of it's real, like a book she read once upon a time. She doesn't remember any of this. It's someone else's life. She's lifting her hand to her ear cuff because she promised she would tell Broyles, but she hesitates before her fingers activate it. If this isn't real, she didn't really promise anything. If this is real, if she is actually crazy, she'll be damned if she let's them take her back and stick more needles in her.

She wanders through the apartment touching things, as if their weight could convince her that they're correct. That they're hers. She remembers walking with Frank in SoHo in the middle of winter, holding hands, gloves off despite the bitter wind. He pulled her to a stop in front of a tiny gallery filled with industrial black and white photographs and his nose was cold when he bent to kiss her.

Shadows flicker at the corners of her eyes and she whirls toward them, turning to face an empty room and her mind whispers that she's done this before. And she's right; it's familiar, this dissociation of not quite knowing who she is. She sure now that it's never happened before. She's just tired, and it's only been a few days since she went back to work.

She gets the feeling that she isn't alone, a skittering weight that settles between her shoulder blades, but the room is empty every time she turns. She's both disappointed and relieved.

She wishes she had the sense to ask Frank to stay, but then she's never been one to be sensible. She knows that's wrong. She knows she's sensible and stoic and cold and she isn't any of these things.

In the bathroom, she watches herself in the mirror. She's fascinated with her own reflection now. She thinks she can see someone else looking back at her.

She's sure now, that she was right before, when the told them she was someone else. But if that's true, then she isn't real.

She lifts her eyes to the mirror again.

And she smiles.

 


End file.
